Everyone can be reached.

My friend Ron has Alzheimer’s. In advanced stage. He’s 86. And sometimes, I wonder if he would be better off dead. But not always. Because I, and others, interact with Ron. One-on-one. We bring him pleasure. By taking his arm. And strolling. In the great outdoors. Other times, I push his wheelchair. For miles and miles. Along a paved trail. In an idyllic woods. I talk to Ron. And describe what we are seeing. I can tell. Ron feels pleasure. Later, he won’t remember any of it. But for a few minutes, Ron has a sense of being alive. Ron was a brilliant scientist. Not so brilliant any more. But still, he experiences moments of calm and tranquility. I talk to Ron in a soothing voice. Touching his shoulder. Ron feels the good vibes. He knows I’m his friend. Everyone with Alzheimer’s can be reached. Even the deaf and blind lady in a nursing home. Sobbing. Sobbing. I touch her shoulder. That’s all she needs. Reassurance. Knowing that she isn't alone.  --Jim Broede